Her Will and Her Blades
by SciencyBoom
Summary: She began to wonder if she was more steel than human. Irelia one-shot.


Night in Ionia was a beautiful sight to behold. The island nation, separated from Valoran's mainland by the Guardian's Sea, remained almost untouched by modern technological advances. The Ionians were a spiritual people who had always lived in harmony with nature. Irelia's birthplace, the Placidium, was itself nestled among the mountains. Growing up she would gaze out her window at the Serene Garden, radiant even by night, before being lulled to sleep by the gentle sounds of the nearby waterfalls.

The Garden was where she sat now, meditating below the Great Tree. The mountain air would be cold at this time of night, Irelia knew, noting that not a single goosebump had appeared on her bare arms. A troubled sigh escaped from her lips, her bated breath clouding in front of her. She could no longer feel the cold. Even her breathing was voluntary.

She raised her hand slightly - a quick but precise movement - and her blade hovered above her open palm. A small circular motion made with her index finger caused the weapon to rotate slowly, revealing intricate details carved into her father's masterpiece. A stubborn man through and through, the disease that proved fatal to Master Lito already had him tight in its grasp by the time he began work on this set. Despite the protests of both his children and his physicians, Lito refused to abandon his work until his hands shook too much to wield a blade. He succumbed to the illness soon after that.

Like father like daughter, Irelia supposed. Her own stubbornness became apparent during the Noxian invasion, when she vowed to defend her home by herself rather than surrender. Pride was her sin, her downfall. Pride in her father's work, her home, her brother. It had only been a month since the fateful battle, but a desperate Irelia had already visited Valoran's finest healers, physicians, and spellcasters. She had offered them money, power, status. Each presented her with the same answer: they could not undo the Starchild's magic. So she had begged, yet still she returned empty handed and disappointed.

She did not remember it all. The thrill of true battle had caught Irelia off guard. She had trained with her father and Zelos for years, learning swordsmanship and combat techniques, but nothing could have prepared her for that day. Her father used to tell her that air was just like water. "Every ripple is the messenger of something yet to come". But her mind could not reach the calm state she needed to predict her opponent's attacks. The battlefield was stained with blood and the corpses of those Irelia had known all her life. She had not expected the stench of death that permeated the air, or how the weight of the blade increased with each foe felled. She had not accounted for the sorcerers at Noxus' disposal until the reanimated body of her father's young apprentice had pinned her to the ground.

The Noxian necromancer had wasted no time placing a fatal curse on the Ionians' last symbol of hope. Irelia remembered the pain twisting up her body, and the way the sorcerer's manic grin never faded, even as he was cut down by her allies. She had felt her throat close up as the rest of her body screamed at her for oxygen. Two healers had rushed to her side, but she ignored them in her panic, clawing at her neck and trying to scream as her vision faded to black.

"Your mind is clouded."

Her father's voice had been the next thing she knew. _Of course father_, she'd thought, _I am dying after all_. She'd heard her father's laugh. _ It has been so long_.

"Open your eyes, my daughter. I did not raise you to give up so easily."

She felt pressure - a hand on hers? A reassuring squeeze. _Father, I -_

"Fight, Irie. Fight for Ionia."

Her eyes had snapped open. Soraka had been looking down at her, concerned, but Irelia's gaze focused on the battlefield. There had been no time for questions, only time to fight. She had pushed herself to her feet, her father's blade rising to fight with her. She remembered feeling weightless as she raced back into battle, dodging the strikes of her enemies with ease and countering with brutal blows of her own. As the Noxian soldiers fell one by one at her hand, their commanding officer barked at them to retreat. The survivors had fear in their eyes as they fled. Fear of _her_.

It wasn't until the Ionian forces, gazing at her with a mix of awe and fear of their own, asked what sorcery had animated her blade that she herself realised the absurdity of the situation. Soraka had stepped in at that point, explaining that she had bound Irelia's soul to the blades in order to preserve her life. A murmer had spread among the crowd at the news, leaving Irelia feeling rather uncomfortable, until one man cried out her name triumphantly, hailing her a hero, Ionia's unwavering defender.

At the time, Irelia had not fully understood what it would mean to be soulbound to her blades. She soon realised it was as much of a curse as the one that almost stole her life. She didn't need to eat or sleep; she didn't feel pain or warmth. The blades followed her everywhere, even when she did not want them to. Once she lost her temper and yelled at them to leave her alone, but all they did was hover silently, unresponsive, even when Irelia sank to the ground to cry tears that wouldn't come. She began to wonder if she was more steel than human.

Having a sleepless body gave Irelia a lot of time to ponder her existence. During the day she carried out her duties as Captain of the Guard, but while everyone else retired to their homes for the night, Irelia would sit under the Great Tree to meditate. She sought the enlightenment that was so revered by Ionian culture, but all she succeeded in was falling into a deep depression. She had never been particularly selfish person. Ionia valued the needs of the many above the needs of the one, a mantra Irelia had grown up with. Her body was an excellent tool with which she could protect her home, but Irelia pined for her humanity.

Zelos was the only friend she knew. Her older brother had always been kind to her, even when their father was not. When he left to seek Demacian aid before the Noxian invasion, it had taken all of Irelia's willpower to stop herself begging him not to leave her. Not that he would have agreed if she had. Zelos was the perfect soldier: stalwart and strong, with a fierce love of Ionia. When he returned home briefly after the Noxian retreat, Irelia was too ashamed to face him. First she had lost her father, and now she found herself pushing the only family she had left away too. But she was no longer the sister he once knew.

Steel did not need friends, family, or companionship, she told herself. A weapon had no use for pain or love. The blades were a part of her now, their needs and desires melded into one. No Ionian could understand her now, her thirst for the blood of her enemies to wash over her metal skin. How very ironic that the magic which saved her from death at the hands of Noxus would change her into someone who craved everything her enemies prized. She hated Noxus, for taking Zelos away from her with their invasion, and for the loss of her mortality. But above all, she hated herself.

Everything she felt now was at odds with Ionian teachings. If her heart was still beating she was sure it would break. She felt unfit for the position bestowed upon her after she successfully repelled the invasion. She was not fit to represent Ionia. Though she loved her home dearly and would defend it to her last breath once more, she was deeply uncomfortable with the lust for vengeance within her. She no longer understood her purpose in life - if you could even call what she was experiencing "life".

When the morning sun rose, its gentle glow bathed Irelia. Another night was over, and the Gardens would soon be filled with residents of the Placidium meditating or doing yoga before the work day started. Irelia would be gone by then, as she always was. She did not want to corrupt such a sacred place any further than she was sure her nightly visit already had. She was growing used to the turmoil in her mind. As she stood, her blades rose with her, silent and ever present, betraying not even a hint of the pain they caused their wielder.


End file.
